


Chuck vs. The Kiss of Life

by dracofiend



Category: Chuck (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-22 11:18:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17058824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracofiend/pseuds/dracofiend
Summary: Chuck and Casey save lives and get closer. Sarah notices.





	Chuck vs. The Kiss of Life

**Author's Note:**

> The next episode after Chuck vs. The Cover Boyfriend, because there's more story to tell. See you in two more years (maybe!).

"In the last week, we've tracked at least three suspected Fulcrum agents to the Los Angeles metro area, but have been unable to discover their real identities or determine what they have planned." General Beckman frowned at them from the screen. "It might be unrelated to the Intersect, but I want you to be on your guard for anything suspicious."

"Should we prepare to move the asset underground, out of harm's way?" Casey asked, ignoring the twin glances of dismay from Walker and Bartowski.

"Negative, Agent Casey," replied the general. "While I agree that would be the safest course of action, I don't want to risk drawing attention to Mr. Bartowski if this turns out to be a false alarm. And if it doesn't, I want your team to lure the Fulcrum agents out, see if we can take down another piece of their organization."

"You mean, use me as bait," Chuck said flatly. Casey glared over his shoulder.

"Precisely," Beckman answered icily. "Is there a problem?"

"No, no problem," Chuck said in that same curt, almost belligerent tone. "Just wanted to be clear on what the mission was. Let's call a spade a spade, right? I'm just an asset - what good am I if I'm not being used in some way?" His eyes cut over to Walker for an instant before meeting Beckman's impatient gaze. Casey held in his growl as he watched Walker give Chuck a steely look back. So the kid was wringing his pretty little hands over Sarah again, hm? Casey was getting goddamn sick and tired of Chuck's infatuated-dweeb routine and even more sick and tired of Walker's yank-a-loser's-chain routine. He kept his knuckles unclenched, with effort, and told General Beckman, "Ma'am, we'll make sure Chuck understands mission parameters."

"Good." Beckman's frosty face turned to Casey. "I'm transmitting the files on the suspected Fulcrum agents now." She pressed a few buttons on the keyboard in front of her. "Exercise caution - I don't want to alert Fulcrum or anyone else to the Intersect if they're not already targeting him. That's all."

The moment the screen went blue, Walker spun on her heel and marched away.

Chuck twitched to follow, his face filled with the wrath of a woman scorned. He was brought up short by Casey's hand digging into his shoulder. "Not so fast, slugger," Casey growled. "She's downloading the files from Beckman and doesn't need your help, and you need to get your head back in the game." He jerked Chuck's shoulder so they were face to face. "Now if you hadn't been so busy mouthing off to the general, maybe you would've heard her say that Fulcrum agents might be in our backyard this very instant, gunning for your ass."

" _Suspected_ Fulcrum agents," Chuck muttered, "and I was too listening, Beckman said they might not even know--"

"Wrong, idiot," Casey interrupted. "Always assume the worst."

"There's that sunny personality we all know and love. Look Casey, I doubt Fulcrum agents will be crawling out of the ventilation system in the next five seconds, so if you'd--"

Casey stepped in front of Chuck as Chuck tried to cut around him. "Nuh-uh. Last thing you need is another distraction. What happened, anyway? Walker just wants to be friends?"

Chuck paused, surprised. "Yeah, I think,” he sighed, deflating. “Sort of. It’s getting hard to tell--” 

"Wrong again," Casey cut in brusquely. "I don't care. Now you may have the world’s biggest computer stuck in your head, but that won’t stop the bullets from liquefying your brain. Here's how we're going to take care of that."

***

And that's how Chuck found himself at The Firing Line, which billed itself on the outside as an indoor rifle and gun range, but which was actually a fluorescent and concrete gathering place for people who might be mistaken for Casey's friends, going by the NRA ball caps and Army of One t-shirts, not to mention the various Uzi-style firearms being toted around. At the front counter a group of twenty-something Laguna Beach types in aviator shades and yoga pants laughed and exclaimed as a scruffy employee in full camo gear showed off his intimate knowledge of the handguns on offer.

"Come on," Casey grunted beside him. "This is a Mickey Mouse operation, but no one's gonna spring for a real training facility, seeing as you aren't even qualified to join the Girls' Gun Club over there." Casey elbowed him, jolting him forward.

"Don't we need to like, check in, talk to someone...get some safety equipment on?" Chuck asked, still swiveling his head around at the sheer quantity of lethal firepower mounted on the walls and gleaming behind glass counters. It hardly seemed legal to have an arsenal of this size open to the public.

"I called ahead." Casey gave him another shove with the heavy-duty black bag he was carrying. Based on the deep bruising it was likely to leave, Chuck guessed it was chock full of guns. And, he hoped, protective vests. 

It turned out there were no vests, but there were clear glasses and bright yellow earmuffs for each of them, and a deadly-looking Glock 9mm for Chuck. Casey took out a box of ammo and unloaded five magazines, lining them up on the bench in Chuck’s stall. “I’m only going to show you this once, Bartowski, so wipe the terrified look off your face and pay attention. Remember – guns don’t kill people, idiots who have no clue what they’re doing because they weren’t listening during basic firearms instruction do.”

Chuck did what he could, given that he was surrounded by gun nuts and way-too-giggly sorority girls and the constant pop-pop-pop of gunfire. A few minutes later, he was alone in his stall, taking a breath, and picking up the Glock. No sooner had he raised it and peered down the sight than he heard a stern _Hey!_ from the clear partition Casey stood behind.

Casey stepped around it. “Okay, Annie Oakley, let me stop you right there.” He moved in directly behind Chuck, planted a boot outside each of Chuck’s shoes, and raised his bare arms up along Chuck’s. Then he wrapped his big hands around Chuck’s at the base of the gun and leaned near, raising his voice to be heard over Chuck’s earmuffs. “Keep your thumb forward and straighten your wrist; you hold it like that, the recoil will rip your tendons right out.”

Chuck stiffened inside the warm cocoon of Casey’s body – and the next instant Casey’s rumble of a laugh puffed over his jaw. “Easy, tiger – this is a gun range, not the backseat. Can’t afford a game of feelsies around here – wouldn’t want you to shoot your dick off.” Another deep chuckle. “Not that it’d make much difference.”

Chuck took in a breath through his nose. “You know, if denigrating me is your idea of a backup plan for when staying in the van doesn’t work—and it usually doesn’t, by the way—”

“All right, Chuck, just relax,” soothed Casey in a much more conciliatory, if still unnecessarily close and husky, voice. “Don’t forget you’ve got a live weapon in your hands. Now look straight ahead…” Chuck let Casey guide his fingers clutching the Glock slightly upward – their eyes were aligned as Casey leaned into him. “Take aim,” Casey murmured by his ear. “And fire.”

Chuck pressed his mouth together. He squeezed the gun and it jumped with a crack, kicking back into his hands with greater force than he’d expected. Casey’s broad bulk was right behind him. 

“You got it,” said Casey, approval in his voice. “Way to pop that cherry. One down, one to go,” he added, more lowly. Chuck was too busy being impressed by the circular puncture in the paper target – square in the center of the chest – to care. “Maybe next round we’ll move you up to the .357 Mag, eh?” Casey grunted, stepping away. 

***

“Hey,” Chuck paused with his hand on the door handle. “Thanks buddy. I had a good time.” He gave Casey a lopsided smile. “Who knew shooting actual bullets could be so fun?”

Casey grunted. _People who aren’t pussies._

“So, yeah, maybe this could be like, I don’t know, something we do again?” Chuck asked. The truth was, he liked hanging out with Casey when the big guy wasn’t being super douchey to him every other second. They were just guys, hanging out at the gun range, doing guy things. Being manly. He looked hopefully at Casey, who finally looked over from behind the wheel.

Casey grunted. _We’ll see._

Chuck’s face went _oooh-kay_ and he nodded. Well, at least he’d shown Casey that all those years of Duck Hunt were worth something after all. He leaned against the door and opened it, sliding a leg out. 

“Your targets,” Casey growled behind him.

“Hm? Oh.” Chuck leaned back in and reached down to where his best rolled-up paper targets had fallen to the floor – he was thinking of framing these babies; beginner’s luck only comes once. Straightening up, he suddenly found a broad warm hand at the back of his neck, then Casey’s face, coming in fast. Before he could say _what_ or _hey_ or _whoa there_ , Casey’s mouth was on him, hard, bearing down. Caught by a heavy arm, Chuck leaned in, and opened to the kiss. 

His hands were still (embarrassingly) in Casey’s hair when Casey’s lips trailed off the edge of Chuck’s chin; Casey pulled back, breathing audibly, wearing a smug smile. 

“Wait, wait,” Chuck panted, “why…?” _Why’d we stop?_ he almost blurted out. He wanted so badly to lunge forward, close his eyes again, keep going. Fortunately, the blood couldn’t make it back to his brain fast enough, and before he could form more words, Casey was slipping his hand past Chuck’s shoulder, drawing away. 

“Got your mind off Walker, didn’t it?” he said, with a hint of a rasp. He gave Chuck a sly grin. “She must’ve left you high and dry too long – you were really going for the gold there, cowboy.”

“Whu—well, well,” Chuck spluttered, fingers tightening over Casey’s scalp in anxiety before he realized what they were doing; he yanked them away like they were on fire. “That’s, that’s because I was trying to sell it, you know, because like you’re always saying, you never who might be watching.” He stopped, gulped in a breath. “In fact, they might _still_ be watching…” He tried not to cringe at the blatant hope in his voice. Oh God, Casey was right; his frustrations with Sarah were spilling over into lame moves on Casey.

Casey just stared back at him with his usual mix of borderline contempt and undisguised amusement. Then he snorted. 

“Get out. See you in the morning. 8:15 sharp – don’t make me wait on your doorstep, because I won’t.”

Chuck sighed. “Sure, buddy. Thanks for letting me down nice and hard.” He opened the door and got out, giving Casey a wave with the rolled-up targets without glancing behind him, without seeing Casey’s eyes following him, hawk-like, until he was out of sight. 

*** 

“Hey, Chucky Chuck!” Morgan drummed the top of the horseshoe with his knuckles. Chuck swiveled around. “So how’d An”—he cleared his throat—“Evening of John go last night?” Chuck gave him an apologetic smile. Morgan had almost managed to say it without bitterness, which, to his great credit, was nowhere to be found in his face, as he looked expectantly at Chuck. 

“Oh, you know, it was—good,” Chuck answered. “Interesting, as usual. Because John’s an interesting guy.” Morgan’s eyes narrowed slightly at that. “Not that you aren’t, buddy! Not that you aren’t!” Chuck rushed to say. “It’s just…” He gestured futilely with his hands. “It’s a different, it’s a different kinda vibe, you know, because you’re like, hey, let’s play Call of Duty until our eyes and fingers bleed! And he’s like, let’s get a big bag of actual guns and go shoot up a bunch of stuff!”

Morgan’s eyes widened. “Dude is intense! Wow Chuck! That is…that’s just, wow.” He shook his head and leaned in conspiratorially. “But have you ever stopped to think if this is really the kind of person you want up in here?” He tapped at Chuck’s temple. “Or more importantly, in here?” He patted at Chuck’s tie. “Is he a _good_ influence on us, Chuck? And if—god forbid it ever happens, but I’m just saying _if_ —we ever decide that it’s just not going to work out…what do you think he’ll do?” 

Chuck pressed his mouth together and frowned down at Morgan’s bearded face. “Uh, well, Morgan, considering the—and I’m putting it kindly here—eccentric crew that I’ve had to spend just about every day of my life with since starting here at the BuyMore, I’d say John fits right in. And although I had not given any thought whatsoever to breaking up with him, now that you mention it, I could see how it would go, uh, badly…speak of the devil…” he trailed off as Casey’s bear-like figure materialized in the heavy appliances section and strode toward them.

“Bartowski,” Casey growled. “I need you in the home theater. Now.”

“Good morning to you too,” Chuck murmured. 

Morgan had widened his eyes to the ground. “You know,” he admonished, looking up the full length of Casey, “you could try a little tenderness, big guy. Chuck’s Mr. Right, okay? Not Mr. Right Now. He’s the real deal, so you cherish him, and you take care of him, and you thank your lucky stars every day that he saw fit to open up his heart to you, you hear me?”

The deep V in Casey’s forehead threatened to jump off and start karate-chopping Morgan’s face. “Or else what?” Casey growled, just as Chuck hopped over the horseshoe and stepped between them. 

“Or else Chuck’s going to have no choice but to turn to sweet Sarah’s waiting arms,” Morgan shot back, only cowering a little. “Right buddy?” He clapped a hand to Chuck’s back, then ducked behind it. 

“Whoa—hey!” Chuck said, pushing a palm to Casey’s chest as he lunged forward and bared his teeth at Morgan. “I appreciate the sentiment, Morgan, I really do, and Casey, you know, Morgan’s not wrong”—he quickly changed tactics as Casey’s apoplectic face swerved from Morgan to himself—“but that’s, that’s really beside the point, because there’s plenty of me to go around and we’re making it work, right? You and me, me and you…” He gave Casey his biggest, shiniest smile. “So you said, you said the home theater room, right?” He gave Casey’s bunchy shoulder a ginger pat, in hopes of steering him away. “I’m right behind you, punkin.”

Casey slammed the door to the home theater room shut and swished shut the curtains. “We got a call with General Beckman in half an hour.”

“Oookay, so did you want to play some Madden or something before she calls?” Chuck looked around uncertainly.

“No, you idiot, I need you to fix the damn computer.” He knelt down to the low table, pushed some unseen buttons, and the super top-secret spy panel revealed itself. “The stupid thing won’t turn on.”

Chuck grinned and crouched down next to him. He rubbed his hands together gleefully, then cracked his knuckles. “Finally! Something I can do better than you. Step aside, son, and let Chuck Bartowski show you how it’s done.” He reached for the laptop and tried powering it up. No dice. “I assume the government backs up its data on a frequent basis?”

Casey grunted in assent. Carefully, Chuck shut the screen, then flipped it over, whipped out his set of screwdrivers, and removed the access panel. 

Casey grunted irritably. “Well, Nerd, can you fix it?”

“Gimme a sec, Rome was not built in a day,” Chuck replied. He started running his usual diagnostic routine.

“Hey,” Casey said, grabbing Chuck’s wrist, and none too gently. “This isn’t for shooting zombies and watching porn, you understand? If the NSA’s state of the art technology is beyond your ‘expertise’—”

“Oh please, the NSA uses Windows machines like everyone else,” Chuck answered, shaking him off. “Just need to unscrew this here, tighten this here…and voila.” He eagerly flipped the laptop back over, and pressed the power button.

“Great, it’s still not working, genius.”

“Huh. Let me check something else back here…” Chuck took up his screwdriver again and went back to work. “So, uh, so you talked to Sarah yet today?” he asked, keeping his eyes to laptop.

“No.” Casey twitched beside him. “Watch it, that’s sensitive equipment!”

“Yeah, and it’s got a custom motherboard. I’ll just need to open this up…”

“I’m warning you Bartowski, you break that, and I break you,” Casey snarled.

“Look, you want to get in here and fix it yourself?” Chuck didn’t bother looking up in his annoyance. “What’s that, you’ve never fixed a PC before? No, I didn’t think so.”

A low, angry, growl sounded from deep within Casey.

“Never mind, I’m sorry,” Chuck amended, peeking over at him. “Look, it seems like the bias current node for the PCIe—this doohickey here—was routed too close to the inductor for the power rail, so when the CPU gets warm, the power rail pulls more current, causing the inductor to ring more, causing the crosstalk on the bias net to screw up the PCIe subsystem and hang the CPU. So all we need to do is…”

Casey’s growl dissipated, and Chuck fiddled around some more. After what he deemed a suitable pause, he resumed, “So—when do you think you might talk to Sarah?”

“For God’s sake, Bartowski, will you give it a rest?” Casey snapped. “Sarah and I are not BFFs. We don’t giggle over boys on the phone while taking bubble baths. You say one more word about her and you’ll be in worse shape than that worthless piece of crap laptop!” 

“Whoa, whoa, hey, relax!” Chuck soothed. “I was just asking!” He turned his attention back to the computer. “No need to be jealous,” he mumbled. 

Casey’s snort puffed hotly on his neck. “Jealous of _what?_ ” he replied with disgust. “You and Walker one-upping each other in the World Series of Lady-Feelings? Let me tell you something.” Casey hunched in closer, his eyes a little wild. “I was eliminating guerillas in Honduran jungles while she was sucking her thumb and wetting the bed. If I’d been sent in to do her job and screw the intel out of you, it would’ve been done a long time ago.”

Chuck creased his brow in concentration and reattached what he hoped was the last wire. “Well that’s just super, Casey, I’m sure we both would’ve enjoyed _that_ very very much. Now let’s give this another shot.” He set the laptop up and pressed the power button, once more.

Nothing.

“Hnn,” growled Casey.

“Okay, don’t go berserk and starting hitting things. That might work in Spy World but not with computers,” Chuck said, standing up. “Let me just run out and get my drill—be right back.” He moved to the door and opened it.

“You better get your ass back here on the double!” Casey threatened behind him, loudly. Loudly enough for Lester, Jeff, Anna, and Morgan, who had obviously been huddled in blatant eavesdropping mode right outside, to hear.

“Kinky,” Jeff said, over his slow blink. 

Chuck’s eyebrows came down hard. “What the hell are you guys doing here?!?” He shut the door behind him, quickly.

“Got yourself quite a bucking bronco there, Chuck,” Lester said. Not a single one of them appeared embarrassed. “Here’s some advice: roofies. You can thank me later.”

Chuck wrinkled his face. “What are you, nuts? I’m not going to drug him! I don’t think you understand the nature of our relationship—”

“Not him,” Lester enunciated, as if he were talking to Jeff. “You!” He gestured with a finger pointed at Chuck. “Do you honestly think you can survive _that_ man-beast sex machine fully conscious? Look at you! You’re barely clinging to life as it is!”

“You do look a little pasty,” Jeff said slowly. 

“What?” Chuck waved them away. “You know what, I don’t have time for this, I need to go get something—”

“I hope it’s protection,” Anna murmured to Morgan, who nodded knowingly.

“—which is not protection but something else I need right now to help Casey with something—”

“An intercontinental ballistic missile guidance system,” Jeff mumbled.

“A what?” Chuck stopped short—could Jeff _know?_

“To guide his missile home,” Jeff grinned sleepily. “Into your—”

“Okay that’s it,” Chuck pushed his way past their snickering faces. “You guys have jobs to do, so go do them. And do NOT open that door.”

By the time he got back inside, Casey was visibly fuming. “What took so long, Bartowski?” he sneered. “The Apple Dumpling Gang giving you trouble again?”

Chuck threw himself down by the laptop, drill in hand, and shook his head. “Not sure that landed, buddy, you’re kind of dating yourself there.”

“Just hurry up!” Casey barked.

Chuck bent his head in concentration and started working; he just had to drill out the VIA and re-route the signal with wire. He blew gently at the hole he’d drilled and flexed his fingers, carefully manipulating the tiny components in front of his nose. Good—he’d threaded the wire properly—

“Five minutes Chuck!” 

“Gah!” Chuck dropped the whole motherboard, startled. “Why would you DO that?” He looked over at Casey angrily. “See, this is why I prefer having Sarah around when there’s a clock counting down to certain doom! I mean,” he hurriedly interrupted himself as Casey’s eyes enlarged maniacally, “I’m not as—I don’t—she helps me not to freak out. As much.”

For a second Chuck thought Casey might pop him in the mouth. Instead, Casey’s fury-filled expression suddenly eased. He gave Chuck a small, non-scary smile. 

“I’m sorry,” Casey rumbled lowly. He sounded truly contrite. “I overreacted because General Beckman’s calls are so important to me. But you’re just trying to help. I shouldn’t have shouted.”

Chuck felt his mouth fall open slightly. “Um.” He searched Casey’s face and, as usual, had no idea if this was sarcasm.

Casey picked up the motherboard, took Chuck’s hand, and placed it gently on his palm. “Could you try again, please?” His voice was grave; his eyes beseeching. Chuck scrutinized him a second longer—Casey was completely serious.

“Sure,” Chuck said, one side of his mouth lifting up reassuringly. “Anything for you, bud. We won’t let the General down.” He retrieved his tweezers and picked up where he left off. 

At T minus one minute, Chuck raised the laptop’s screen and adjusted it for Casey. “All systems go,” he exhaled. “I hope.”

Casey’s square fingertip pushed the button…they both held their breaths…and the screen flashed on.

“And we have lift-off!” Chuck crowed. Casey pressed his lips together in satisfaction. 

“Good man,” he said, looking sideways at Chuck. His eyes seemed to narrow for an instant, then he leaned over and sucked in air deliberately through his teeth. “I won’t forget it,” he said, all gravelly, into Chuck’s ear.

“Oh ho ho!” Chuck sputtered, sucking in his abdomen as Casey’s wide palm wrapped around his neck and squeezed. Goosebumps sprouted up and down his arms. “The—the Beckman…”

“Heh,” Casey grunted into his skin. Then he retracted his arm and faced the screen, as if nothing had happened, as if Chuck wasn’t about to melt, or explode, right next to him.

***

Unsurprisingly, Beckman’s intelligence (“I won’t mince words – Fulcrum knows more than we initially believed. Watch your step, Chuck—it might be your last as a civilian.”) was good, because the next day, in the parking lot between the BuyMore and the Orange Orange, a big black van squealed to a halt an inch from Chuck’s toes. The door flew open; gloved hands shot out and grabbed Chuck by the middle and threw him inside. He banged to the floor for a moment before being hauled upright to be bound, blindfolded, and gagged, as the van careened over speed bumps and out of the plaza. The whole thing took under forty-five seconds, and Chuck was still dazed from the rattling in his head when the oozing, ominous voice of a bona fide bad guy told him, “Well, Mr. Carmichael. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but your life just took a turn for the worse.”

*** 

When the van finally came to an abrupt stop, Chuck was dragged out, none too carefully, by what sounded like a small platoon of heavily-armed men. “You guys have no idea of the terror that is about to rained upon you by two extremely scary agents!” he warned them. Or tried to, through the gag. Ominous-Sounding Bad Guy apparently got the message, though, because he laughed and replied, “You mean Agents Casey and Walker? Don’t worry, Mr. Carmichael, we have a little surprise for you.” 

They shoved and prodded Chuck forward until he stumbled blindly into a cell of some kind, then slammed the door behind him. The moment the lock clanged and the steps died away, Chuck rushed to push the blindfold off and pull the gag out. His wrists were still manacled together in front, but at least he could see. Not that there was much to look at – he was trapped in a dimly-lit space slightly larger than an airplane bathroom. A metal chair sat in the center. “Please don’t let them have Sarah and Casey,” he mumbled, staring down at the handcuffs, testing their strength. 

“Chuck?” came a muffled voice. Chuck spun around – it was Sarah. “Sarah!” he called, rushing to the corner where it had come from. “Sarah, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine – what about you?”

“Yeah, I’m okay, but how are we going to get out of here? Oh!” He jumped excitedly. “They didn’t take my watch; maybe Casey will track the GPS signal—”

“They got him too,” Sarah answered. “I don’t know where they took him but I heard him when they brought me in.”

“Oh, not good, not good,” Chuck said. “Okay. Okay. Maybe we can MacGyver our way out, using my watch, somehow, and, and, this chair—”

“Chuck, don’t freak out,” Sarah told him. “We’re going to make it out of here, okay? Now, listen to me. The wall here at the edge has been repaired with particle board or something not very sturdy. See?”

Chuck nodded as a small chunk of the dividing wall flexed out slightly; Sarah was pushing it from the other side. “Yeah, yeah, that’s good, right?”

“I want you to try to break it open.”

Chuck picked up the chair and examined the legs quickly. “Okay, I think I can give it a try – stand back.” He waited for Sarah to move away, then drove the chair leg toward the section of the wall as hard as he could. It creaked, but didn’t break. “One more time,” he panted. 

“Okay, but hurry – they might have heard that,” Sarah said urgently. Chuck took a deep breath and rammed it forward again. This time, it punctured a hole through the wood.

“I got it!” Chuck said, setting the chair down. “Now what?”

“Here,” Sarah said, and through the hole appeared a barrette.

“Thanks,” Chuck said, raising his hands to receive it. “But I’m still growing out my hair; maybe in a month—”

“It’s a switchblade,” Sarah said. “I used it to get out of the cuffs – see if you can do the same.”

“Oh!” Chuck squinted at the little hair clip, then pressed the decorative rhinestone on top. A tiny but efficient-looking blade shot out one end. “Hey-oh! How diabolical.” He applied it to the lock on the handcuffs and started jiggling it around. “Beats breaking my thumb. Is that really a thing, by the way? Casey acts like he does it all the time--”

Before Sarah could answer, the sound of heavy feet and the clinking of keys filled the air. “Hide it!” Sarah hissed, in the one second before voices spoke up outside Chuck’s cell. He shot a desperate look down his body – they’d find it in his pockets right away – and pressed the button to retract the blade, then popped it in his mouth, pushing it under his tongue, praying he wouldn’t accidentally trigger the button while holding it there. 

The door groaned open. “Hello, Charles. I do apologize for the delay.” It was the same man who had spoken to him before. Beside him stood a second man, considerably thicker-necked and meaner-faced, with a huge black automatic draped across his chest. The boss bad guy gave Chuck a completely un-reassuring smile – and Chuck flashed.

He was an international arms smuggler, killed twenty years ago over a deal gone wrong, supposedly. Recruited into the CIA by Fulcrum. No mercy; no morals. Code name: Marker. 

“We’d like to talk to you about a little project we know you’ve been working on,” the Fulcrum agent said. “Please, have a seat.” He gestured to the chair. 

Chuck flicked a glance behind him. Crap! He couldn’t let them see where he’d punched through the wall. He turned to face his captors and with his best defiant, close-mouthed glare, he scuttled backwards and plopped down in it. Then, slowly, he scooted the chair forward with a series of painfully long, metal-on-concrete screeches. 

Marker, whose forehead had creased during this process, smiled indulgently. “Excellent. Now, we know you helped Bryce Larkin build the Intersect.” Chuck’s eyes widened. “All you have to do to save Agents Casey and Walker is – tell us how.”

Chuck shook his head vehemently – and almost swallowed Sarah’s dagger-barrette. He pinched his mouth together and tried not to gag. 

“No, of course you won’t talk,” Marker said mildly. “Well, don’t say I didn’t try.” He looked over at his muscley companion and jerked his head toward the door, then swept around and left. 

A few minutes later, Chuck was in a warehouse of some kind, gripped on each side by matching gun-wielding thugs. In front of him was a small table set with various tools, many of them long and pointy, several serrated. A frightening-looking chair, outfitted with straps and buckles, was next to it. 

All right, Chuck told himself, they’re gonna torture me. No problem. No problem. I can handle torture, I’ve been tortured before. I can—who am I kidding, I’ve never been _tortured,_ the closest I’ve come is being _almost_ tortured but then I passed out when the humongous needle—oh! Oh, I just need to pass out, right, just need to pass out—

He was already feeling a wave of dizziness wash over him when Marker returned. Shuffling in front of him, as if in pain, was Casey, his wrists cuffed.

“As you can see, Agent Casey here didn’t want to talk to me, either.” The Fulcrum agent causally waved the pistol he was holding. “And I think I know why. I didn’t want to say anything in front of Agent Walker – didn’t want to cause a scene – but he’s not just another agent to you, is he?” Marker chuckled, pushing Casey forward. As Casey limped nearer, a shaft of light fell across his face. 

He’d been pounded to a pulp. Chuck sucked in a breath at the angry red hollows in his face; the swollen lip; the bleeding cut over his eye. Then the meaning of Marker’s words sank in, and he remembered the hair clip, under his tongue. 

With a mighty wrench of his shoulders Chuck broke free of the thugs’ hold and propelled himself to Casey, catching Casey’s mouth in an open kiss. Casey flinched and shuddered; Chuck’s eyes were closed but he frowned, trying desperately to be gentle. Casey’s lips were thick and blood-salty, but Chuck sucked onto them and didn’t let go. He pushed his tongue past Casey’s teeth, feeling the groan from Casey’s throat, fighting to keep his hold on Casey’s face long enough to transfer the hair clip from his mouth to Casey’s. The plastic edge touched Casey’s lip and Casey understood instantly; he relaxed, opened wide, let Chuck sweep in. Chuck licked inside, pushing along the barrette until it was safely lodged beneath Casey’s tongue. Casey pressed into him, all heat and blood; he kissed Chuck fiercely, invasively—then he was ripped away, and Chuck stumbled back. 

“That’s enough,” Marker said curtly. He jerked his head toward the chair with straps, and one of his men gave Casey a prod with the muzzle of his gun. 

“Casey,” Chuck breathed, his blood racing. 

“Maybe hearing the screams from your precious Casey here – inflicted by someone other than yourself – will convince you to tell us what you know. Remember, sharing is caring,” Marker smiled. 

“Um, um,” Chuck panicked, holding up his still-handcuffed hands, “to tell the truth, I’ve never made Casey scream, not the way you’re probably thinking, he’s not much of a screamer, not that I would know, we’ve never even made it to third—”

“Go ahead and do your worst,” Casey growled, cutting him off. “Carmichael won’t care.”

“WHAT?” Chuck shouted, outraged. “How could you _say_ that? I would! I would care very much, please do NOT do your worst, or even your moderately baddest, which I’m guessing would actually register as pretty terrible from my perspective, I’m sure we can come to some kind of arrangement, work out a deal—” 

“Fine. Let’s put _you_ in the chair.” Marker twitched his gun and suddenly Chuck was being dragged over to the terrifyingly strappy chair. “I was hoping to avoid this, because now it’ll be that much harder to get the Intersect details out of you intelligibly, but hey. Can’t have everything we want all the time, can we?” 

“No, no,” spluttered Chuck, “I was thinking that no one goes in the chair, you know, _no one_ gets tortured today, huh? Save something for tomorrow, shall we?”

“Moment of truth,” Marker sneered as he stepped toward Chuck while two of his goons buckled him down. “How deep is your love, Charles? Are you willing to die for him?”

Chuck winced at the sound of a drill grinding into action, out of his line of sight. “You know there are lots of ways to show someone how you feel without any fatalities,” he said rapidly, hoping against hope that Sarah had somehow busted out of her cell and was racing to the rescue with guns and a buttload of backup. “I know that being in the business you’re in, maybe that’s not obvious; I mean take Casey here, his idea of a hot date is shooting things up at a gun range, and even though I had fun it doesn’t really make for an _intimate_ kind of evening—”

“Well it sounds like you and your boyfriend have some relationship issues to work out,” Marker said, looking over to the table of evil instruments next to Chuck. He picked something out, then hovered it in front of Chuck’s face. “Too bad you’ll have to do it without the benefit of lips.” A vicious pair of razor-edged pliers descended toward him. Chuck opened his mouth in an unabashedly girlish shriek. The cold metal bit into his skin – and then Marker went down in a heap, felled by Casey’s un-manacled fist, almost at the same time as the pair of minions just behind him. Chuck twitched and flinched as three more thugs hit the ground, courtesy of Casey’s flashing boots and elbows, and then Casey’s hands were on him, fumbling with the buckles.

“We have to get Sarah,” Chuck said, hunching down to unfasten his left ankle. Casey, crouched to free his right, grunted, “No can do; we gotta get you out of here before the rest of Dr. Phil’s guys catch on.”

“We’re not leaving her behind!” Chuck jumped to his feet and launched toward the door. A furious growl sounded from behind him, but when he dared a glance back, Casey was there, hands wrapped around one of the big automatics he’d taken from one of the thugs. “Which way?” Casey barked, overtaking Chuck. “And I am not taking the blame if you get shot saving her.”

“To the right!” Chuck called back. “And I would never ask you to, buddy.”

In the end, they met Sarah halfway and managed to escape with only two medium-sized firefights, during which Casey shot up a bunch of bad guys while Sarah led Chuck out of the line of fire. 

***

Chuck had never been happier to see the familiar fountain bubbling away in the courtyard. “I’m beat,” he said wearily to Casey, shuffling toward his front door. “See you tomorrow.”

“Not so fast.” Casey was, all at once, right next to him. Chuck jumped. “How do you _do_ that?”

“I need to get inside your place to set up some new surveillance equipment,” Casey muttered in his ear. “Wait here while I go get it.”

“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” Chuck glanced at his watch. “It’s just, we’ve got that 8 am all-hands meeting…”

“Sure, I’ll just tell Big Mike you couldn’t make it because you had a previous engagement with members of a rogue faction of the CIA,” Casey replied in his sing-song sneer. He bared his teeth at Chuck, then proceeded into his own apartment.

Chuck sighed, and waited.

A few minutes later, Casey was back, a backpack hiked over a shoulder. “Let’s go.”

Chuck opened the front door as noiselessly as he could. He looked back at Casey with a finger to his lips; Casey rolled his eyes but nodded, and Chuck stepped inside the darkened living room. He tiptoed toward the couch – when the muffled flush of a toilet stopped him on the spot. 

“Ow!” he yelped as Casey barreled into him. “OW!” he yelped again, stubbing his toes on the couch while trying to regain his balance. 

“Come on!” Casey whispered fiercely, yanking him up by the arm. “All right!” snapped Chuck—and that was how Ellie found them, with their arms locked together, standing awkwardly beside the couch. 

“Chuck? John? What are you—” She came closer, hugging her arms to herself, and gasped. “Oh my god John, your face!”

Startled, Chuck looked at Casey—and felt a pang of guilt. He’d completely forgotten that Casey’s face still bore all the signs of having been pounded – Casey always acted so cool about it, like pain was a figment of someone else’s imagination, and after awhile, Chuck had started to believe him. 

“Oh, uh,” Casey muttered. “Don’t worry about it, it’s nothing…”

“Nothing?” Ellie went to the wall and switched the light on. Casey winced, and so did Chuck. Full overhead lighting did not improve Casey’s look. “Sit down,” she said, pointing to the dining table. 

“I’m fine, nothing a little gauze and alcohol can’t fix,” Casey replied, shouldering his backpack a little more tightly and taking a step toward Chuck’s room.

“Sit!”

Casey’s jaw clenched; he bent his head and sat down at the table. 

“What happened?” Ellie demanded, going to the kitchen to retrieve one of the many first-aid kits she kept in the house. “It looks like someone attacked you!”

“Well, someone did,” Chuck murmured before he could stop himself. The bulge of Casey’s eyes hit him like a tiny punch. “Uh—I mean, someone did, when, when, we were out tonight, in this, uh, in this bar, and, and uh, you know, bars, how there are often fisticuffs in bars—”

Ellie pursed her mouth as she swabbed at Casey’s face with a disinfecting wipe. “You got into a bar fight?”

“Yeah, with a real wise guy,” Casey replied, before Chuck could answer. “Made a few remarks I didn’t care for.” Casey flicked his eyes at Chuck. “Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

Chuck, who had been wondering where this fresh lie was going, finally caught on. “Oh! Yeah! Just, just a lot of crap about guys being with, you know, guys, and how it’s not right—I mean he was going around killing the mood with his whole heternormative hegemony, and I was like, hey, let’s try being straight but not narrow, and he was like, it’s Adam and Eve not Adam and Steve, and I was like you know what pal, love is love, and then Casey just crushed it with this really rather brilliantly-reasoned argument that Uncle Sam should get out of the marriage business, which just set the guy off—”

“He was going to hurt Chuck,” Casey said abruptly. Which, Chuck had to admit, was entirely true.

Ellie gasped. “What? Oh my god, did you call the police?” 

Chuck opened his mouth to respond but Casey beat him to it. “Nah. We thought about it, but the guy got away. He’ll get what’s coming to him though,” he added, in his usual menacing tone. Ellie paused in the midst of tearing open a sterile butterfly bandage.

“Metaphorically,” Chuck filled in quickly. “You know, what goes around comes around; you reap what you sow, heh.”

“Well,” Ellie said, gently applying the bandage to close the cut over Casey’s eye, “I hate that this happened to you, John, but I’m glad you were there with him.” She looked over at Chuck with worried eyes. “Maybe you shouldn’t go back to that bar.”

“Don’t worry, Ellie,” Casey replied gruffly. “I wouldn’t let anything happen to him.”

Chuck’s eyes flew to Casey’s at that. The way Casey had said it – it sounded like more than just marching orders. Casey’s answering gaze was full of intent. Chuck pressed his lips together and looked away.

Just then, Awesome’s touseled head appeared from the dim hallway. “What’s going on, midnight snack? Whoa, dude, give me the download on your face!”

Casey’s lip quirked up. “You should see the other guy,” he grunted. Not that anyone could, given that he was currently being transported by the NSA to a black site so remote even Casey probably hadn’t heard of it, never to return.

Ellie sighed and turned to him. “They were at a bar and someone threatened Chuck because he was there with John – John made sure Chuck stayed safe.” She turned back with a small grateful smile, and leaned toward Casey’s neck. “I think this might need stitches. We could try Dermabond, but stitches would probably be more effective.”

“Oh man, defending your guy’s honor, I like it,” nodded Awesome. “Now I know violence is not the answer, but sometimes a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do,” he went on, sounding suspiciously close to high-fiving Casey as he came in to take a look. “Yeah, concur on the stitches, babe. We can take care of it now, save you a trip to the ER.”

Casey, who was back to being the non-threatening guy next door, looked at Awesome and Ellie deferentially. “You’re the experts – if you’re sure you wouldn’t mind…”

“Oh no, not at all!” Awesome grinned at Ellie. “You won’t find a smoother touch in the whole LA metro area than Ellie Bartowski’s!”

Casey smiled. “We’ll have to agree to disagree on that,” he said, looking at Chuck with teasing affection. Chuck let out a _ha ha_ that died in his throat as Casey picked up his hand and lightly kissed his knuckles, never taking his eyes from Chuck’s.

Chuck’s heart kicked up. It was too much – being abducted, almost tortured, and seduced by Casey, all in one day. He swallowed, and squeezed Casey’s hand back.

“Let me grab the anesthetic for you,” Awesome said to Ellie. 

“Oh, that’s not necessary,” Casey said. “Are—are you sure?” Ellie asked, clearly doubtful. “You have to keep really still, and it’s not too deep, but you’ll be able to feel the needle…”

“Not a problem,” Casey reassured her. She didn’t look convinced. “Sis, he’s a Marine, remember?” Chuck said after a moment. He nudged Casey with his shoulder. “Once a Marine, always a Marine, right?”

“Semper Fi,” Casey returned lowly, his gaze almost predatory now. Chuck didn’t know what Casey was doing, turning on the heat like that – but he couldn’t deny it, the sensation wasn’t all bad. A little thrilling, if he was honest. _Ah, the allure of the bad boy. Wait, what am I thinking?!?_

“Okay then,” Ellie said in an undertone. More loudly, “If you could just angle yourself toward that wall there and sit up nice and straight for me, John…” 

***

Casey’s patience was running dangerously low by the time the door shut to Chuck’s room. He dropped his bag on the floor and went to the hidden camera in the corner. “Alone at last,” he growled. “I thought they’d never take the hint.” He reached up, then cringed. “Ah, dammit.” He stopped to unbutton his shirt, and carefully peeled it off and threw it to the ground. Those Fulcrum bastards had really done a number on him – he was going to relish shooting each and every one of them in both knees. 

“Oh my god,” Chuck exhaled. Casey moved across the room to the mirror to study himself. Thick stripes curved across his back, twisting a crusty dark red past his ribcage. Not great, but he’d get over it. “Did they—whip you?” Chuck came closer and reached out as if to touch. “I think Ellie should look at that.”

Casey snorted. “Uh huh. The fact that I was obviously strung up and _caned_ won’t seem suspicious at all.” What a moron. “Forget it. I’ve had worse.”

“Uh, worse than that?” Chuck pointed at his abdomen, where three rows of seriously nasty-looking puncture wounds were already scabbing over. 

“Electrified prongs,” scoffed Casey. “Amateur hour. They were just jerking me around—the heavy artillery hadn’t even come out yet when they dragged me over to see you. Quick thinking, by the way, with the lockpick.” He smirked, watching Chuck recollect and start to blush. It was almost too easy. “Did you see that in a movie?”

“Uh, no,” Chuck stuttered. “I just—”

There was a sudden knock on the door. They both stared at it for an instant, then Casey threw himself on the bed. Perfect. The sister was back with her mommy complex and her constant game of twenty questions.

“What do we do?” Chuck whispered, eyes wide with panic. “Get up here!” Casey hissed.

“What?”

“Just do it! Now!” Casey felt his pulse hammering in his neck. Chuck clambered onto him; Casey suppressed a grunt of pain as Chuck kneed him right in the nuts. “Sorry!” Chuck mouthed – or started to, as Casey reached up and yanked Chuck’s anxious face forward, and kissed him.

For a moment, Chuck was frozen. Casey’s stomach clenched as frustration stabbed through him like a spear on fire. He’d gone half-insane handling Chuck with kid gloves; cajoling, whispering, sweet-talking until it made him physically ill—and still, here was Chuck, playing possum in a moment of crisis. With a monumental effort, he muzzled his anger, and touched his tongue gently, so gently, to Chuck’s mouth. 

It worked like a charm. Chuck’s mouth opened—along with the door.

“Hey guys, hope I’m not—whoops, too late.” It was Mr. High On Life. Casey didn’t bother to restrain the growl in his throat as Chuck broke away and started sitting up. 

“Oh, hey, Devon,” Chuck chirped. Casey tightened his grip on Chuck’s upper arms—which were an insult to manhood—to keep him from revealing the worst of Casey’s injuries. Chuck hastily repositioned himself by bracing his elbows on the bed.

“Sorry to be a buzzkill, but Ellie said she wanted you to have these,” Devon replied cheerily, “for the pain.” Casey swiveled his head on the pillow to see Devon putting a bottle of pills on a dresser top by the door. He flashed them a bright white grin. “But it looks like you won’t be needing them tonight! Kiss it and make it better, Chuck!” He waggled his eyebrows. Casey imagined ripping them off, and smiled back. “Ha, yes,” Chuck replied faintly, “although I don’t think that’s a substitute for actual medical attention.”

Devon laughed. “Love’s the best medicine,” he said with a wink and an irritating little jab of his finger in the air. “Trust me, I’m a doctor.”

The door finally (finally!!) shut. Casey looked back at Chuck, who was already struggling to climb down. “Wait,” Casey grunted, holding him right where he was. For a few soundless moments, they lay there, hearts beating against each other while Casey strained to hear any footsteps in the hall, gripping Chuck to him.

“Okay.” Slowly he eased his hold on Chuck’s arms. “And be. Careful. Light torture’s still torture.”

“Right, right!” Chuck gingerly maneuvered himself from Casey’s body and sat on the bed, as Casey pushed himself upright and returned to his backpack. The ache along his side was worsening, and the last hour of Bartowski family coddling hadn’t helped. He took out the various cameras and monitors and laid them out on the bed – beautiful new pieces that he’d special-ordered last week. He hadn’t expected to break them out so soon, but he’d been doing this long enough to know how to be prepared – unlike some people.

“Give me a hand,” he told Chuck. Chuck jumped to attention, which was vaguely gratifying, and he managed not to drop a single thing while they went around the room and the exterior perimeter of the condo, replacing the surveillance equipment. 

By the time they slipped back through Chuck’s window, Casey was done. He was tired. He was ready to go back to his apartment, switch on the monitors, and let the alarms wake him if so much as a cockroach dared to cross Chuck’s threshold in the night. So he replied with a curt _What_ when Chuck said _Wait_ as Casey zipped up his backpack and slung it onto his shoulder.

“Do you,” Chuck began, sputtering as usual. “Do you, uh, do you think you might stay a little longer?” Casey paused, frowning. 

“I’ll be fifty feet away, if anything happens,” Casey answered impatiently.

“Right! Yes, and that’s excellent, that really puts my mind at ease, but—” Chuck rolled his shoulders uncomfortably. “But Awesome and Ellie kind of expect to see you here in the morning, and, and, what with you having just saved me from getting my face smashed in” (“You got that right,” Casey grunted.) “at, you know, that fictitious bar, I mean, how would it look if they came back to check on us and you weren’t here?” He visibly gulped. “Isn’t it bad for the cover?”

Casey merely scrutinized Chuck through narrowed eyes. He was looking awfully squirrelly, but the kid had a point.

“If you’re concerned about, uh, sleeping arrangements, let me assure you, this bed is plenty big enough for two,” Chuck continued, gesturing at the bed behind him. 

“Is that right?” Casey leered. “Lots of sleepovers with Walker, eh?” No matter what she said, he knew Walker didn’t mind Chuck’s sickeningly obvious obsession with her. The way he rolled over for her was disgusting—he didn’t know how she could stand it when just the thought of it had Casey’s hands closing into fists. 

“Ah, lots? No. Nope. I think it was just the one time, and that didn’t even really count, because half way through Ellie barged in, drugged with truth serum, remember that?” The edge of his mouth pulled up. It was his classic dope face. “After that, it kind of didn’t come up again…and I thought about asking, but it never seemed like the right post-kicking-bad-guy-ass scenario, or I don’t know, I was feeling like maybe it was more than I could handle, because I know there can’t ever be anything between us, no matter what I do, and then again, I didn’t want _her_ to feel—”

Casey gritted his teeth and considered shooting off his own ears. “Look,” he cut in, “it’s been a long enough day already; I’m not in the mood for another episode of the Needy and the Noncommittal.”

“Aha! So you think she’s noncommittal too, which is definitely not a no—”

Casey threw his bag back down. Clearly, he was going to have to do this the hard way. “Just get in, before I change my mind.” He yanked the sheets back, kicked off his shoes, and slid in, angling himself to accommodate the more bloodied parts of his body. 

Chuck stood there, blinking for a moment. Casey was sorely tempted to sit back up again, to grab Chuck by his small pale neck and drag him in forcibly—but if he wanted to get any actual sleep tonight, he was going to have to bite the bullet and play nice. 

“Please,” he said lowly, tilting his jaw up to look at Chuck from where he lay. “Please come to bed.” He spread his hand across the sheet beside him, smoothing it down.

The light clicked off; Chuck got in. Christ. Finally. Casey eased onto his side, adjusted the pillow against his cheek, and closed his eyes. 

“Casey?” Chuck’s tentative voice floated toward him in the darkness.

If he’d been any less tired, he might’ve started breaking femurs. “What,” he grunted, keeping his eyes shut and his back toward Chuck.

“I don’t think I say it often enough,” Chuck said softly, “but…thank you. For always being there.” 

“Don’t mention it,” Casey grunted, half-asleep. 

“And for being here,” Chuck added. “Tonight.”

“Yes, fine, I’m thrilled to be here too, now will you shut up and go to sleep already!” Casey snapped, irritation and exhaustion crashing through him so thoroughly that when Chuck turned beside him, grazing him, Casey couldn’t be bothered to shift away. 

***

Chuck awoke suddenly, his eyes springing open. It was 4 am, and he wasn’t alone. Something big and warm and breathing deeply was beside him, pressed to his shoulder blades and down the length of his spine. What happened? He was in his room, but so was someone else. Chuck’s heart pounded wildly.

Casey.

He let out a silent sigh of relief. It was just Casey. 

His pulse gradually slowed, and he drifted back to sleep.

When he woke again, to the alarm’s annoying buzz, it was 6 in the morning. He stretched out, refusing to open his eyes in order to shut off the alarm. Automatically, he reached for the snooze button. Ten minutes later, he was on his feet and at the door before he remembered—

“Casey?” Chuck swiveled back to the room. Nope, definitely no one there. He opened the door, peered down the hallway. Nothing unexpected – just the typical aroma of coffee and the barely audible tones of Ellie and Awesome from somewhere near their bedroom. Chuck shrugged. Casey must’ve gone home. He yawned and shuffled off to the bathroom, to shower.

He headed to the kitchen after getting dressed in his Herder uniform, and was greeted by the sight of Ellie and Awesome sitting at the dining table, laughing and talking to Casey, who hovered over a pan on the stove top.

“Hey, Chuck, morning,” Awesome called out. “Morning,” smiled Ellie. 

“Morning, honey,” beamed Casey.

Chuck stood stock still, fingers stopped on the half-done knot of his tie.

“Uh, morning,” he finally managed. 

“Sit down, I made breakfast,” Casey said with a wave of a spatula. Cautiously, Chuck edged toward the table and pulled out a chair. Casey sounded…totally nice.

“Chuck, dude, he is a keeper,” Awesome piped up. “I’ve never had better egg whites in my life, and I’ve eaten a _lot_ of egg whites. What’s your secret, man?” 

Casey looked over his shoulder and smirked. “I’d be happy to tell you, Devon,” he replied, sliding something from the pan onto a plate, “but then I’d have to kill you.”

“All right, keeping it on the DL, I get it,” Devon nodded.

Casey came around to the table, plate in hand, looking completely at ease in Chuck’s kitchen, bantering with Chuck’s sister’s boyfriend. Chuck noticed, again, that despite his bruised and bandaged face, normal looked good on him.

“Here you go.” Casey set the plate down in front of Chuck, then took a seat next to him. 

Chuck looked at the massive omelet, steaming fragrantly, garnished with little green specks of parsley. “Um…I usually just have some cereal…”

“You should try it,” Ellie urged. “I said the same thing, but then I ate almost an entire one just like that.”

“She’s not joking, bro,” Awesome put in. “ _Inhaled_ it.”

Chuck looked around at the expectant eyes, and slowly picked up the fork. He cut off a piece; took a bite.

“Oh. My.” He looked uncomprehendingly at Casey. “What…? It’s so…fluffy!” He took another bite, and another. “Is this even made out of eggs?!”

Casey smirked back. Then he looked over to Ellie and Awesome as Chuck continued to shovel omelet into his mouth. “Should I be offended? He acts surprised every time—when will you learn, Chuck? I’m good in the kitchen.”

Chuck’s mouth was too full to answer, so he could only choke when Awesome followed with, “Not just in the kitchen! You know you’re the first overnight guest Chuck’s had in a while—”

“Devon!!” Ellie to the rescue. “Stop! That’s _private._ Sorry, Chuck, John,” she apologized. “Although we’re both really glad you stayed—”

“Ellie!” Now it was Chuck’s turn to object.

“—in case there was anything else we could do for your injuries,” Ellie finished, with a glare in Chuck’s direction. “You’re sure the stitches feel okay? And everything else?”

Casey waved a hand dismissively. “Minor scrapes and bruises; please don’t give them a second thought.” He pushed his chair back from the table and rose. “I’d better get ready. Thanks so much for having me over.” He moved to stand behind Chuck, and started kneading Chuck’s shoulders. It felt awkward—but also really good.

“Yeah, anytime, man,” Awesome replied. “Personally, I hope you get another invite ASAP”—Ellie smacked him here but he just kept talking—“because I would love to get your take on this awesome new superfood—have you heard of it?—called açai.”

Casey’s chuckle rumbled out, friendly. “Looking forward to the challenge.” He gave Chuck’s (now thoroughly relaxed) shoulders a final squeeze. “I’ll only need about ten minutes,” he said, suddenly speaking right beside Chuck’s ear. “Wait for me?” he murmured, then kissed Chuck lightly on the neck.

Chuck almost gagged on the delicious bite of omelet in his mouth, but forced it down, eyes watering. He hummed a little laugh, then cleared his throat. “Of—of co—yes, definitely, will do, I will do that. John.”

Casey gazed at him a second longer, as if he couldn’t bear to look away.

It made Chuck feel oddly alone, when Casey left. 

“Wow, Chuck,” Ellie said, breaking into Chuck’s (weird, and getting weirder) thoughts. “He is a great, _great_ guy. I mean, I knew he was nice, he seems so helpful around the house—but fighting off that horrible person last night—that was really dangerous! Not everyone would do that.”

“He does it almost every day,” Chuck mumbled, lost in his own world of Casey, being sweet and protective. It was a nice change from scary and protective.

“What?” Ellie asked sharply, pausing in the middle of putting her dirty dishes in the sink.

“I mean,” Chuck hurried to say, “he’s always—making me feel, you know, safe. You know? He’s…reliable. I can always count on him.”

“Take it from me, bro,” Awesome said, standing to join Ellie at the sink, “I know it’s a tough call, between him and Sarah—but if you’re swinging that way, a guy with his caliber of awesome won’t wait around forever. You should really consider locking it down while you can.” Awesome smiled and started nuzzling Ellie. “That’s what I had to do the minute I met your brilliant, gorgeous big sister.”

Chuck smiled back weakly. “Yeah,” he answered, as Ellie laughed and Awesome nuzzled. “Guess I should be considering that.”

***

Chuck’s ruminations on Casey (big and warm, against his back) came to a definite halt as they stood in front of Beckman’s gimlet eyes during the post-mission debrief later that morning.

"Am I to understand that each of you was separately apprehended, leaving the asset completely unprotected, and that Mr. Bartowski was moments from being interrogated by Fulcrum?"

"Yes, ma'am," Sarah said just as Chuck piped up with, "It's nothing we haven't dealt with before." Chuck clapped his mouth shut at the triad of glares directed at him.

"General, the Fulcrum agent we encountered believes Chuck and Agent Larkin built the Intersect," Casey said. "We aren't sure if his superiors inside Fulcrum agree with him, or are even aware of his theory."

General Beckman looked back with a thin-lipped stare. "Agent Casey, this time Fulcrum has come too close for comfort. I want these Fulcrum agents neutralized immediately. If we can verify that no intelligence regarding the true identity of the Intersect has gone beyond these individuals, then Operation Bartowski can carry on. Until then, Agent Walker, you will remain with the asset at all times—and I mean at _all_ times—while Agent Casey finds and eliminates the threat. If you're unable to do so within 48 hours, I'm afraid I'll have no choice but to terminate this operation and bring the asset in." She signed off without another word.

Chuck faced the blue screen and chewed his lip over his crossed arms. Sarah looked at him with concern.

“Am I allowed to keep my favorite shirts, or do they give you clothes in solitary confinement?” Chuck asked bleakly.

"Don’t worry Chuck, we'll get it done," Casey grunted. 

*** 

A little while later, they had a plan. Casey would return to the warehouse where they’d been taken and do some recon; Chuck and Sarah would stay at Chuck’s place until Casey contacted them with details. They had ascertained the probable alternate locations of the other Fulcrum agents, but the warehouse appeared to be their base of operations. “Don’t you think they would’ve closed up shop, now that we know where they are?” Chuck asked as Casey and Sarah prepped their weapons. 

“If they’re smart, they would’ve,” Casey grunted, “but they’re Fulcrum. I think they’re getting cocky.”

“And remember, I heard them talking about a lab of some kind – I think they’ve established the warehouse as a facility for constructing the new Intersect,” Sarah added, unrolling a set of knives. She checked over them. “I don’t think they can dismantle it and reassemble it somewhere else that fast without our hearing about it.”

Chuck watched Sarah re-roll up the knives and stick them in her purse. “Okay, I’m all set. Ready to go?” She looked at Chuck. He nodded, and started toward the stairs behind her. “Hey, be careful okay?” he said over his shoulder to Casey, who was zipping up a duffel bag. “You know I’m not going to be jumping out of the van to rescue you this time.” He cocked his hands into mini pretend guns and fired them at Casey. 

Casey returned it with his sneering frown-smile. “I’ve survived this long in the field without you, Intersect, I’ll be just fine on my own.”

“Famous last words,” Chuck shrugged, raising his eyebrows. He hopped up the final steps. “But seriously,” he couldn’t stop himself from saying as he stepped through the door, “call us if you need to, okay? Don’t be a hero – well, never mind, that’s your job, but don’t—”

“Don’t you have a date with Sarah starting about now?” growled Casey, slinging the duffel over his shoulder. 

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I’m not worried—”

“Chuck, what’s the hold up?” Sarah called from outside Castle. “I thought you said your sister’s getting back soon.”

“Ye-es! Be right there!” Chuck quickly replied. He threw Casey one last look—which Casey ignored in favor of locking up a case of guns—then stepped out and let the door shut behind him. 

*** 

Casey gave the case a pat, then let his eyes flick upward to where Chuck had stood, looking at him with those dumb imploring eyes. Who did Chuck think he was, some wet-behind-the-ears amateur, like Chuck himself? He snorted, shoving back the answer that floated silently to the surface of his mind. _A friend._ Casey clenched his jaw, swung the case down from the table, then deliberately went to one of the monitors to check for any incoming correspondence from headquarters. He wanted to wait until Bartowski was gone before heading up, to avoid any further calm-damaging moments.

*** 

“So, what do you want to do after dinner?” Chuck asked, reaching into the cupboard for a stack of plates. He’d just ordered Thai for everyone – including two orders of pad kee mao, because pad kee mao was the bomb. "Or maybe I should say, what do you want to _pretend_ to do after dinner, because obviously, we're just working together here." Chuck regretted the bitter tone as soon as the words were out of his mouth. He sighed and turned to Sarah, who gripped a handful of forks like they were deadly weapons. Which they were, in her hands. 

“Look, I'm sorry, that came out all wrong.” He shook his head contritely. “I’m just being stupid, I’m lashing out even though we agreed there’s nothing”—he gestured between them with the stack of plates—“you know, because of your standing mission to save the world, which, of course, has got to take priority.” He gave her a sheepish smile.

Sarah’s expression had softened; she turned away to set a fork down, then moved around the table to set down another. “Don’t worry about it, Chuck. We’ve all been asking a lot of you lately, and even though it seems like you’ve been doing this your whole life, the fact is, you didn’t sign up for this like the rest of us.”

Chuck went to the table and put down the plates, grinning. “Well, I don’t like to brag, but I’d have to disagree. I was clearly born to be a spy. Freaking out at the first sign of guns or blood – that’s all a clever ruse intended to throw enemy agents off my scent.”

Sarah smiled wryly. “No matter what, you’re allowed to have feelings—but sometimes it’s best to wait to share them until after the mission is over. You’re always allowed to be you, Chuck, okay? That’s the best part about you.” She finally raised her eyes to meet his. 

Chuck felt his heart jump a little faster. Damn it, he was doing it again. Falling for her. The edge of his mouth lifted in a wistful half-smile. He swallowed. “You really think so?” Oops. That might’ve come out a little huskier than he’d expected. He cleared his throat. 

Sarah looked away. “Yes,” she replied firmly. “Don’t lose who you are to spying, Chuck—no matter what Casey says.” She picked up a tumbler and went to the fridge. “You want some water?”

“Uh, no thanks,” Chuck answered, finishing the plates. He moved toward the kitchen. Sarah still liked him, it felt like – okay, maybe just as a friend, but still. Maybe she wasn’t mad at him anymore. 

“By the way, how’s everything going with Casey?” Sarah asked, turning back around and taking a sip. 

“Oh.” Chuck stopped in his tracks, mentally, and leaned back against the counter. “Good, actually. Better than good. You know he made everyone breakfast this morning? And I won’t lie, it was _phenomenal._ ”

Sarah’s smile was surprised. “Breakfast, huh? Wow.”

Chuck squeezed his eyes shut for a second, then opened one. “Uhhh, yeah…don’t take this the wrong way, but…I asked him to stay over last night. It’s a long story—”

Sarah was obviously trying not to laugh. She held up her hands. “You don’t need to explain anything to me—”

“—but he was replacing the surveillance stuff with newer equipment that’s supposed to be more sensitive or something, like if I lose an eyelash a bunch of sirens go off, the cavalry comes in and hoses down the place, but then Ellie saw us when we came in, and of course Casey was all beat up—”

“Really, Chuck, you don’t have to explain,” Sarah interjected gently. Chuck paused, mouth half open, and weighed whether continuing would help his cause or not. “So, what is he like on dates?” she asked, before he could decide.

Chuck furrowed his forehead in thought. “He’s…kinda the same as he usually is. Gruff. Monosyllabic. Deadly.” He gave her a bemused look. “But also…sweet.” Chuck went silent, then chewed his lip. “How badly do you think it’s killing him?”

Sarah let out a laugh. 

Chuck jutted his head forward and admitted, “Don’t get me wrong, he’s still Casey. I mean, he throws in some grabbing and kissing on top of the grabbing and threatening, and he saves the derogatory comments on my swimmer’s build for when it’s just me…but overall, he’s—and this might be the strangest thing I’ve ever said, and that includes ‘Hi, I’ve got a government supercomputer downloaded in my brain!’—he’s—he makes a great boyfriend. Or he would, if we were really, you know. Dating.”

Sarah lifted her brows. “Well. That’s a testament to his skills and his training.” Her small smile turned faintly mischievous. “Better watch out, Chuck. You don’t want things to get complicated.”

Chuck’s eyes rounded out. “Oh HAH, that’s a good one!” He gave an exaggerated laugh. “I can picture it now—me, pouring my heart out. Him, vaporizing me with a satisfied grunt. Oh no, Sarah, I’m pretty sure Casey would never let it come to that.”

***

Chuck finished loading the dishwasher and had just popped in the pod of dish detergent when he felt Sarah brush the back of his neck. 

“Hm?” He rose up, a hopeful smile on his face. Dinner had gone really well – just like old times, or at least, the times back when he and Sarah still had the spark of possibility ignited between them. Ellie and Awesome and Sarah and him – they’d sat around the table like a real family, talking about their days, joking around. Sarah had squeezed his hand, more than once. 

Sarah’s expression now sent the warm and tender feelings screeching to a halt. “What?” Chuck asked, drying his hands on the dish towel. She gave a slight shake of her head and glanced over at the couch, where Ellie and Awesome were already snuggled, and Project Runway was just starting. 

“Hey, um, do you mind if I steal Chuck for the evening?” Sarah called out to them, reaching out to draw Chuck closer to her. She smiled, then looked at him, her eyes coy and inviting. “There’s something I wanted to show him.” 

A part of Chuck hoped that he’d only imagined the foreboding look on her face a second ago and tingled with anticipation. 

“No prob, Sarah!” Devon answered cheerfully. “Ellie and I are pretty worn out anyway; we’ll probably call it an early night.” He pointed at Chuck. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, bro,” he winked. 

Chuck grinned back and followed Sarah’s tug on his arm to his bedroom. He tried to force his face smooth as he watched her shut the door.

“Casey’s in trouble,” she said, without preamble. Chuck’s stomach turned over.

“What? How do you know?” he asked, all thoughts of Sarah abruptly redirected to Casey and that super scary warehouse and the Thai food now heaving and bubbling its way up his gut.

“He activated his transponder ten minutes ago,” she replied grimly, going over to his window and raising the blinds. Chuck swiftly followed.

“WHAT? Ten minutes ago?” he yelped. “What the heck are we still doing here??” Sarah pushed up the window sash and jumped out. Chuck followed suit and they hurried to the street and got in Sarah’s car. 

“The signal was weak,” Sarah answered, gunning the engine. Chuck’s chest strained against his seatbelt as the car leapt into the night. “I didn’t get the alert until just now.”

“Maybe, maybe they’re jamming the signal or something,” Chuck thought aloud, “or there’s something in the warehouse walls that’s interfering with it.”

“Let’s just hope he’s still there,” she said, her voice as tight as her face. 

“What—where do you think Fulcrum would take him?” Chuck asked, fighting to sound more deadly-focused and less wildly anxious about the condition and location of John Casey. “There’s no way of knowing which of their other hideouts they might’ve gone to, or which ones they’re even using right now, or how many other agents might’ve parachuted in from who knows where because they do that, don’t they, they just materialize out of thin air—”

“Chuck, we’re going to stop them,” Sarah cut in. “We’ll be there soon. When we get there, I want you to stay in the car.”

“Surprise surprise,” Chuck muttered.

“I mean it,” Sarah warned. “We don’t know how much Fulcrum really knows about you and we can’t risk them finding out anything more. If you’re coming with me, you’re staying in the car, no matter what – and I’m serious, Chuck, _no matter what_ – because the last thing I want is for Beckman to order me to bring you in.”

“Okay! You’re right.” Chuck held up his palms in apology, glancing over at Sarah’s furrowed forehead. Her hands were crushing the steering wheel; her chin was set in what Chuck thought of as the Omen of Death to Evildoers. “I’ll stay in the car,” he promised.

So it was inevitable that, three minutes into Sarah’s lone foray into the shadowed depths of the warehouse, Chuck found himself watching, wide-eyed, through the windshield, as no less than five large men with a definite Fulcrum vibe hustled out a corner door, bearing among them the limping silhouette of John Casey.

“Oh no, oh no, oh no,” whispered Chuck. Then he snapped open the passenger car door and sprang out.

He made it to within thirty feet before anyone noticed him – and was met with a hail of gunfire.

“AGHGHGHGHGH!” he shrieked, darting behind a lamp post. He risked a glance around – two of the agents had broken away from Casey and were sprinting toward him, weapons whipping the air. 

“SARAH!” he bellowed, desperation amplifying his shout. He raced across to the next lamp post, hoping to draw the attackers farther from Casey. Shots rang out; he squeezed his eyes shut for an instant and when he opened them, the pounding footsteps had stopped. Casey was wrestling with the agents surrounding him and was wielding an automatic, via one of his attacker’s hands.

“Ho boy,” Chuck panted, gulping with difficulty as he launched himself toward Casey. Three against one wasn’t great odds, even for Casey, and as Chuck neared, he could see Casey was gagged. He wasn’t blindfolded, however, and the bulge of Casey’s eyes almost froze Chuck mid-stride. With a lion-like roar, Casey overpowered the agent whose gun he gripped and smashed him to the ground, wrenching the weapon free and leveling it at the other two thugs. He dropped one, turned the gun on the other—

And then beside him, Chuck saw the glint of metal—without thinking he lunged forward, propelling himself into Casey, the gun, the Fulcrum agent Casey hadn’t seen—the crack of the bullet sounded loud, as if inside his head—there was pain, then nothing.

***

It was another close shave in months of close shaves; another half-believable story he had to spin for Ellie and Awesome and Morgan about his increasing clumsiness, which he blamed on genetics but which Morgan attributed to some weird sex move that Chuck was fairly certain only Morgan had ever heard of; but in the end it was just some faintly purple bruising on his jaw and his chest that would align perfectly with a Heckler & Koch MP5SD3, if anyone were to try fitting it to his torso. It was a win, in Chuck’s book – yes, okay, he did black out again, which was embarrassing, but hey, they got the Fulcrum agents, and Sarah took down the leader of the faction, who turned out not to have guessed the true nature of Chuck’s relationship with the Intersect, and who, more critically, had been hoarding information for her personal benefit and had not apparently shared it with any of her superiors within Fulcrum. So yeah, a pretty obvious win.

Casey, though, didn’t seem to think so. Chuck, puttering around in Castle after his shift, tried to help him see it that way. 

“You know,” he began casually, to Casey’s broad back, “all things considered, that last mission went pretty well.”

Casey stood at the table, his head bowed to his guns, cleaning them. He acted like he hadn’t heard.

“I mean, I’m still here, free to pretend like I’m not a sort-of spy and that all I do for hours every night is hang out with you guys. Which, by the way, is really starting to raise some eyebrows,” he added. “You realize that at some point, we’re going to have to re-think this whole thing because they were right, three really _is_ a crowd and I just don’t know how much longer I can keep up with the juggling.” He looked over at Sarah, who sat at her computer. “Ellie is starting to ask some pretty pointed questions, and Lester’s setting up some kind of cage match between the two of you. So far Casey’s the favorite but it’s a tight spread so Sarah, you’re no underdog. You’ll be happy to know Jeff’s volunteered as a referee.” His eyes went to Casey, who still hadn’t reacted, aside from a very slight straining in the neck area. 

Chuck frowned, then approached Casey. 

“Buddy?” Chuck laid a tentative hand on the beefy shoulder. 

Casey flinched. _Ooookay._ Chuck withdrew his hand and cleared his throat, tapping his fingertips lightly on the surface of the table. “Are you…is everything okay? Because I thought General Beckman was pretty happy with how things turned out. Okay, yeah, it’s kinda hard to tell but I mean, she didn’t do that thing with her mouth she does when…” Chuck trailed off, observing Casey’s lip start to curl. “Yeah, a little like that.” He edged a little closer, flicking a glance at Sarah, hoping for some help. Her expression was oddly closed, though; she was looking at Casey.

Chuck licked his lips. “Hey,” he started again softly, “if you’re, if you’re feeling a little, I don’t know, awkward or something about, you know, those Fulcrum agents getting the upper hand…well, whodathunk, they’re smarter than we thought, setting up that trap for us, knowing we’d come back to the warehouse…”

Casey’s shammy stopped in his hands. Chuck watched as Casey’s Adam’s apple rode up, slowly, and down again. Casey set down the magazine in his hands without making a sound.

Carefully, Casey turned his head. Chuck, alarmed by the curious light of violence in Casey’s eyes, took a tiny step back. 

“What are you, some kind of retard?” Casey ground out.

Chuck paused, uncertain. “Uh, I think you mean developmentally delayed—” 

All at once the full force of Major John Casey swept over him, enveloping him like a hurricane. “She told you to STAY. IN. THE. CAR!” Casey roared, leaning forward as if to swallow him. “It’s not hard! Except for complete MORONS like yourself who have no IDEA what it means to be in the field, to OBEY ORDERS!” Casey advanced on Chuck, impossibly, seeming to enlarge with rage before his very eyes. “You have ZERO training, ZERO combat experience, you can barely hold a gun and you can’t run three feet without tripping over your own goddamn shoelaces! There was NO COVER out there in that parking lot, NONE!”

Chuck, who had been momentarily unable to breathe, sucked in air at last. “Excuse me?” he stuttered back. “I think we both know I’ve successfully fled from _legions_ of international criminals on nothing more than pure unadulterated fear and this surprisingly sturdy pair of Converse shoes, so a little credit please, where it’s due!” His whole body raced, as it always did when Casey was on the warpath and the warpath led him to within an inch of Chuck’s face – but if he stood very still, kept very quiet, just stood his ground— 

Without warning, Casey plowed into him, slamming him into the wall. Stars flickered in Chuck’s eyes, obscuring the blueness of Casey’s, and ouch, he’d forgotten just how much this hurt.

***

“ _You,_ ” Casey spat out, hardly hearing his own voice. He could see his own hands though, gripping Chuck’s shoulders; he could see Chuck sprinting toward him through the spray of bullets, his eyes shut, his mouth wide open, practically begging to be gunned down.

Casey’s hands tightened, pressed down on bone and flesh. “You think the Intersect makes you invincible?” Casey growled. _Chuck was falling against him; Chuck was hit._

Chuck’s eyes popped. “No!” he gurgled, gasping like a fresh-caught bass. “But I…couldn’t…leave you there…to die…”

Casey felt the air leave his lungs, as it had in the moment in that empty warehouse lot, when Chuck collapsed into him, falling, and the whole wide world was falling, in sharp reports and bright flashes and Chuck, who would never open his big dumb eyes again. His grip constricted around Chuck’s throat; the pounding of his blood was louder than the sound of his own snarl, or Chuck’s choking, or Walker’s exhortation to stop.

“ _Stop!_ ” Walker screamed. “Stop! Casey! He’s our _asset!_ ”

The pinch of her hand on his bicep finally registered; the pull of Chuck’s hands on his wrists. Casey heard his own ragged breaths, and Christ, this wasn’t an airstrike in the middle of Sudan, this was fake and sunny Echo Park, land of wanna-be actors and lookalike cul de sacs, and no danger at all. 

Casey shoved Chuck up the wall and released him, and glared down as Chuck sagged. 

“Get out of my sight, Intersect,” Casey rasped, chest heaving. Chuck just leaned there, looking crumpled, and didn’t move.

Casey turned away, shouldered past Walker, and marched from the room, leaving his precious guns spread out in so many shiny pieces on the table.

***

Casey was well out of ear-shot by the time Chuck recovered enough to straighten up. “You’re welcome!” he rasped out – not too loudly – as he rubbed at his neck where Casey had half-strangled him. “What the hell was that?” he coughed, looking at Sarah. “Just when I thought he finally learned how to be a real live human being, he goes and turns the dial waaaay up on the psycho! Which is saying something, considering this is a guy who sleeps with both eyes open.”

Sarah sighed and moved to inspect Chuck’s fresh bruises. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Chuck shrugged, stretching his neck and twisting his shoulders. “But he’s been stomping around all day like someone repealed the Second Amendment. I swear, this morning I thought he was going to take a bite out of Morgan’s face for taking too long to pick something out of the snack machine. And usually Big Mike gets a pass—I’m guessing it’s Casey’s Pavlovian response to the chain of command—but hoo boy, you should’ve seen the death glare he got when he accidentally dropped his bear claw on Casey’s shoe. Big Mike didn’t even try to rescue it like he normally does—he just turned around and walked away.”

Sarah frowned. “It’s been a tough series of missions for all of us lately.”

“You think he’s finally starting to crack?” Chuck mused, still rubbing at his throat absently. “Personally I thought he must’ve passed that point long ago—like, say, when he decided to take a job as an undercover spy who puts himself in mortal danger on a weekly basis and has no real friends, no real family, no real home, and no real food—have you _seen_ what he stocks in his apartment? It’s like a shrine to canned tuna and Hot Pockets.”

“I know it looks easy, but occasionally, we spies get tired too,” Sarah replied dryly. 

“Oh! Not you!” Chuck said hurriedly. “I mean, you’re much more—you have a much better…diet,” he finished lamely.

Sarah just smiled. “Look, don’t worry about Casey, all right? We should let him cool off; then I’ll go talk to him.” She squeezed Chuck lightly on the wrist. “If you don’t have plans later, do you want to come by for dinner?”

“You mean dinner dinner, or spy dinner?” Chuck asked cautiously. Sarah smiled. Chuck was everything they fought for, everything a spy lived to protect. Of course he’d gotten under her skin—and Casey’s.

“Dinner dinner,” she replied. Chuck’s face lit up, and she couldn’t hold back her answering grin. 

***

Later, she tracked Casey down in the training room, straining under a barbell and a couple of hundred pounds. 

“Casey.”

The weights clanged as they rose and fell in a deliberate rhythm on either side of his straining torso.

“You were out of line.” 

Casey grunted and pushed up the barbell. Sarah studied him, watched as his body tightened with muscle and endless denial. “I won’t mention it to Beckman – this time,” she warned. She shifted, and folded her arms. 

Another minute passed, and Casey finished another set. Sarah gazed at the patches of sweat on his shirt, on his chest, under his arms. They both had to build walls—all spies had to do it. But Casey, being Casey, took it to the next level. 

“I did try to tell you,” Sarah said. The weights clanged down, over her words. “Chuck’s not just another asset.” She hesitated, unsure how far she wanted to go. “To either of us,” she finally added, quietly.

With a burst of effort and a vein-popping grunt, Casey hooked the barbell overhead. His labored breathing filled the room.

“I think Chuck’s right,” she said slowly. “I think it’s time to change our cover story.” She saw the way Casey’s eyes narrowed, just for an instant, then cleared. “I think it’s getting too—complicated—for him. It’s too easy for him to blur the lines between the work, and his personal feelings about me.”

Casey’s answering grunt was immediately translatable. _Just him?_

Sarah swallowed, and steeled herself to say it. “It’s getting more difficult for me, also.” She paused, hating the necessity of baring her soul to a fellow agent—and yet, she knew Casey was the only other person who could possibly understand. “Which is why I’m going to end our cover relationship as boyfriend and girlfriend.”

He reached up for the barbell, and lowered it to his chest.

“It’s a free country,” he breathed, his features contorting as he pressed up. “Do what you want.” 

Sarah watched the weights rise over Casey’s clenched jaw. “I wanted to let you know, so you’d be prepared.”

The weights rang out as Casey slid the bar onto the rack. “If he comes looking for a shoulder to cry on…” Casey muttered, his face a mask of sweat and disgust.

Sarah stayed silent as Casey sat up, ribcage heaving, and wiped roughly at his hands and arms with a towel before falling back to the bench and reaching up for the bar. She thought about how he needled her about being compromised; how they first met on this assignment, guns trained on each other. _It’s déjà vu all over again._

“I doubt he’ll need one, Casey,” she told him, then turned and left the room. Behind her, the weights clanged, echoing loudly, hollowly, in wordless protest.

***

The scene the next morning in the Orange Orange freezer was hardly less tense, and considerably more arctic, as Sarah and Casey faced off with General Beckman.

“General, while Chuck and I have worked well together almost from the very beginning, and continue to do so, we think the time has come for us to—update our cover story.”

The general leaned into the camera and looked as if she was arming nuclear warheads behind her eyes.

“Is that right, Agent Walker.”

Sarah squared her shoulders and plunged forward. “Yes, ma’am. We believe we can operate more effectively as a team if Chuck and I were no longer using a romantic relationship as a cover. His friends, family, and co-workers have observed the progression of our cover relationship, and I think we could reasonably move to a more…platonic dynamic without jeopardizing our ability to complete our missions.”

“I see.” Beckman’s tone was flinty enough to spark fire. “I would ask why, but I have a feeling the answer will be—complicated—so I’ll simply say that your timing is unfortunate.” She glared at Sarah. “With this latest threat from Fulcrum, Chuck will need closer safeguarding than ever before, if he is to remain where he is. I was about to suggest that you and he take the next logical step, and move in together. Since that doesn’t appear to be a viable alternative any longer, I have no choice but to shut this operation down.” _Bombs away._

Sarah could only stand mutely before the general, fighting the bursting impulse to be insubordinate. She barely remembered Casey was even in the room, until he cleared his throat and shifted forward.

“Ma’am, you may recall,” Casey said guardedly, “I have a cover relationship with Chuck as well.”

Beckman turned toward him, her weaponized glare in full effect.

“Yes, Agent Casey?”

“I can keep the asset under 24/7 surveillance,” Casey replied. “In my home.”

The general’s gaze bored into Casey. “I confess that, notwithstanding your proven track record with respect to handling our nation’s most valuable assets, I’m surprised that your role as Mr. Bartowski’s boyfriend has survived. To be frank, I didn’t think you’d last. The two of you certainly make a very odd, if not highly suspicious, couple.”

The general pinched her mouth shut, and Casey considered pointing out that the whole ridiculous cover situation was only made possible by the fact that Chuck’s friends and family could go down in history as the all-time champions of not having a freaking clue. Before he could open his mouth, she turned back to Sarah.

“Would the asset be willing to go along with this?” Beckman stared at Sarah. 

Casey stared at Sarah too, feeling deeply aggrieved that Beckman, and Walker, and everyone else was _so surprised_ at Casey’s ability to manipulate an asset. Hadn’t he earned their trust, after all he’d done? He could make anyone believe anything. Sometimes he used enhanced interrogation techniques permitted only at non-publicly designated offshore sites. Sometimes he didn’t. 

Sarah nodded. “Yes ma’am, I think he would.” She glanced at Casey, who quickly flicked his eyes back to the screen and straightened up. “Chuck trusts Agent Casey to protect him.” A pause, and Casey could feel Sarah’s eyes on him. “Chuck trusts him as much as he does me.”

Casey found his throat tightening, unaccountably.

“Very well,” General Beckman said crisply. “Agent Casey, I want the asset to relocate to your apartment as soon as possible.”

Casey gave a nod of assent. “Yes ma’am.”

“And Casey, a word of warning,” Beckman added. “Chuck seems easily swayed by his emotions, which are erratic at best. I expect you not to give him any reason to attempt to escape your custody, or to unilaterally change your arrangement. We can’t afford to let Fulcrum get any nearer to the Intersect.” She leaned back and poised her finger over the disconnect button. “Keep Chuck close, Agent Casey, by any means necessary.”

With a final pursed-lip frown, she blinked off the screen. 

_Roger that,_ Casey thought, staring at the NSA logo glowing blue in front of him. _By any means necessary._

“I’ll go talk to Chuck,” Sarah said, breaking the silence.

“Hey,” Casey grunted. “Didn’t you two call it off?” He turned to the table and began shuffling mission files together, avoiding Sarah’s eyes. “I’ll tell Chuck.”

“Casey—break it to him gently.” Across the table, he could sense her leaning toward him. “This is a big change for him, he won’t be able to—”

From above, the entrance to Castle clanged shut. They listened as Chuck came banging down the steps. Casey’s jaw tensed. Just great. Now he wouldn’t even be able to turn the volume down on the nerd. The instant his mopey face appeared in the doorway, Casey let it rip. 

“Listen up, loverboy, looks like we’re shacking up together. Get your stuff packed and bring it over tonight.”

Bartowski froze, doing his baby rabbit schtick. “What? What do you mean, get my stuff?” His round eyes flew from Sarah to Casey and back again.

“It’s either that or never see the light of day again,” Casey jeered, jamming the last of the papers into the folder. 

Chuck narrowed his eyes at Casey, then instinctively moved toward Sarah. Casey bristled; Sarah sighed. “General Beckman is very concerned about your safety, in light of Fulcrum’s latest activities,” she told him quietly. “She was going to have us bring you in—”

“Until I saved your ass by asking you to move in,” Casey interrupted. “Since I assume you’re not ready to give up the fabulous life you’ve been living”—he snickered—“you better be at my house, with your boxes, in oh, about six hours. Copy?” 

Chuck swallowed, hard. “It’s, it’s kind of a big step, isn’t it? Moving in together? I mean, are we at that level of commitment in our relationship yet, I mean our fake relationship? It’s hard to keep track with all this on again, off again, breaking up, making up I’m having to do lately.” His glance turned accusingly toward Sarah. “And I don’t even know if I see us going there, to be honest—”

Casey had had enough. He closed the distance between them in two angry strides and jabbed a finger into the dip beneath the dweeb’s throat, where it would hurt. “You know where I see us going?” He sucked in air slowly through his teeth and his eyes darted wildly between Chuck’s. “To an undisclosed government detention facility so far underground you won’t even have earthworms for company.”

“Agh! Okay, all right!” Chuck yelped, wilting under Casey’s clenched-teeth stare. “I just—I was just thinking it might seem, you know, a little sudden, to, to my sister and Morgan and everyone, I mean a decision of this magnitude isn’t one I would make lightly on a whim, you know? I would definitely have to consult Ellie, and of course Morgan, to make sure I’m not jumping in too fast, like should I tap the breaks a little”—he made a screeching noise—“and I’d probably angst about it for a little while, maybe three to four weeks—urp!”

Casey had grabbed him by the back of the neck and pushed his mouth up against Bartowski’s ear. 

“Chuck,” he said, low in his throat. “Relax, sweet cheeks. I know you can do this. Hm?” He reached around and gave Chuck, who was actually trembling against him (it was just too easy!) a hard squeeze on the left buttock. 

Bartowski leapt a foot in the air; Casey guffawed. Sarah folded her arms disapprovingly and pressed her mouth shut, to hide her smile. 

“I, um.” Chuck cleared his throat. “I guess we’d better break the big news to the fam tonight then, huh? Want to come over for dinner?”

Casey gave him his trademark leering smile and draped a muscled arm around his shoulder. “I’ve got the perfect hors d’oeuvres ready to go—mini tartes flambée.” 

“Ooh, sounds delish,” Chuck replied, sounding a little shaky still. The crush of Casey’s pectoral to his shoulder likely had something to do with it. “What are they?”

Casey steered him toward the steps. “They’re basically tiny pizzas. You just throw on some crème fraiche, some thinly sliced onion, sprinkle on some lardons…”

Sarah watched as they marched up, in time. Chuck threw her a glance over his shoulder, his eyebrows sky high, his mouth curved up uncertainly to one side. Then he turned his attention back to Casey, whose thick bulk was curved protectively around him (“The key is to really take it slow with the onion; you rush that, you’ll blow the whole op.”). Sarah smiled to herself, then turned to finish up some paperwork. Chuck was safe. Mission accomplished.


End file.
